


They've Mastered That Technique

by brynnmck



Category: Canadian 6 Degrees, Canadian Actor RPF, Canadian Actor RPF (C6D), Canadian Musician RPF (C6D), Headstones (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-29
Updated: 2008-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-14 18:15:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brynnmck/pseuds/brynnmck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"What?  You gonna give me Rockstar 101?"</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	They've Mastered That Technique

**Author's Note:**

  * For [china_shop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/gifts).



> For [](http://china-shop.livejournal.com/profile)[**china_shop**](http://china-shop.livejournal.com/) , who asked for "Hugh teaching Callum how to be a rockstar." Many heaping glomping thanks to the lovely [](http://zabira.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://zabira.livejournal.com/)**zabira** for a quick and wonderful beta!

Callum's on one bed, plucking aimlessly at an unplugged guitar, temporary loan from Trent. A week or so left on the tour and then maybe they film, maybe they don't; every phone call from Bruce is different news, half the time with Noel freaking out in the background. New rewrites, new funding, old problems, and Liz is doing her share of freaking out, too. But for the first time in a long time, Callum's not worrying about the future, just wants to enjoy this last stretch of time and road.

The band had made a killing in Winnipeg, so they'd decided to spring for a motel to celebrate. 'Course, they're not so rich they don't need to share, but the split's easy now: Al and Kevin, Derald and Dave, Dale and Steve, Tim and Trent, Hugh and Callum. Easy _now_ , but it wasn't when they started, with Trent eyeing Callum—eyeing Callum eyeing Hugh—in a fuck-with-him-and-I'll-kill-you kind of way, the first time Hugh announced he and the "Hollywood cunt" had "Hollywood cunt bonding bullshit" to do and should probably share.

Callum grins at the memory.

"What?" Hugh's watching him from the other bed, dog-eared paperback sagging in his hands.

"Nothing," Callum shrugs.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Hugh says, with a grin of his own now, "were you having _deep thoughts_? Was I interrupting the _master_ at _work_?"

Callum rolls his eyes. "Fuck you."

"Hey, that's sounding good," Hugh goes on, nodding at the guitar. "You keep practicing, someday you're gonna be ready for the Silent Guitar Olympics."

Apparently Hugh's quiet time for the evening is over.

Callum drops his head to the side, fixes Hugh with a long look. "You've probably forgotten this—along with the lyrics to Tweeter, by the way, in case you thought nobody noticed last night—"

"Blow me—"

"—but we're supposedly going to be making a movie at some point, and in that movie, I'm going to be playing the role of the lead guitar player, and so it _might_ help if I actually looked comfortable with a guitar." He raises a shoulder. "Just a thought."

"You do it right, dumbass, no one's gonna be looking at your hands," Hugh scoffs. Hugh's looking now, though, and Callum's not sure if he's imagining the slight change in Hugh's breathing, just like he's not sure if he's imagining half the stuff that goes on between him and Hugh, so he just says,

"Oh, yeah?"

Hugh's eyes snap back to Callum's face. "Yeah." A short pause, while Callum wonders where the conversation's going, then, "Look, it's all about attitude, Rennie."

"Attitude." Callum knows that, of course; it's part of the reason he's been studying Hugh so carefully, watching him shift from easy smiles and banter into sneering and spitting in the time it takes him to get from the green room to the stage. And he already knows, too, that Billy Tallent's brand of attitude is different, that Billy's the type who'll make _you_ come to _him_ , where Hugh's all force of nature, nothing hidden. But Callum likes to get Hugh going, so he smirks. "What? You gonna give me Rockstar 101?"

"You're fucking right I am." Hugh rolls off the bed, cigarette dangling from his mouth. He's laughing. "Get up."

"Yeah, this is gonna be good," Callum drawls as he climbs to his feet. The space between the beds is small; Hugh's practically right in his face, less than six inches away, with the guitar slung between them.

"Okay," Hugh says. He sucks in smoke and exhales to one side, then ditches his cigarette in the ashtray on the nightstand. When he stands up again, his eyes are bright and hot, on the sharp edge of danger. Callum can feel it at the back of his neck, the base of his spine, right _there_ where his dick is pressed up against the back of the guitar.

"Okay, what?" he challenges.

Hugh slants him a grin. "Patience, grasshopper." Then, shoving at Callum's shoulder with one hand, "Christ, loosen up, I'm not gonna _hit_ you."

Callum rocks back a bit, realizes his muscles from his shoulders to his knees somehow tensed themselves when he wasn't paying attention, like they seem to do a lot when Hugh gets in his space. And that'll be good for Billy and Joe, if and when they get there, but now, here, it's not about that. He'd take a deep breath except Hugh's watching, so instead he just focuses for a second or two until he can slide into a slouch. The tension stays in the space between them, humming like an unresolved chord. "I'm just waiting for your words of wisdom, here. I wanna be prepared, y'know, soak it in."

And suddenly Hugh laughs, head tipped back so Callum can see the hollow of his throat, and Callum smiles, too, because, well, it's hard not to.

"I don't know, man," Hugh says, still grinning, looking over Callum's shoulder now. "Part of it's believing that everyone in the audience wants to fuck you, one way or another. That's the easy part."

 _For you, maybe_ , Callum thinks.

"But the other half of it is, the half that half of these assholes miss, is that you gotta want to fuck the _audience_ , too." Hugh lifts a shoulder. "Goes both ways—you need them, they need you." He glances up, quick, then away. "You know?"

And Callum knows that he means it, because he's seen Hugh out there, up there, and the way that even when he's abusing the crowd, he's connected. It _means_ something. And that may not be Callum's style and it sure as shit isn't Billy's, but then again, Callum had Billy down cold weeks ago, and Stanislavski's got nothing to do with why he's sharing this crappy motel room with his maybe future co-star.

So. "Yeah," he says. He lets his right hand drift up and over the body of the guitar, thumb sliding down the silent strings, one by one. The backs of his knuckles brush Hugh's jeans, just over his thigh, and Hugh's muscles twitch as he hisses in breath. Callum looks him straight in the eye. "You need them, they need you. Yeah. I think I get it."

Hugh's smile is slow, gradual realization and spreading heat. "Yeah?"

And Callum lets him have it right back. "Yeah." Then, while the charge is building between them, "Still can't play this fuckin' thing," Callum says, rueful, half-laughing.

Hugh reaches out, lifts the strap carefully over Callum's head. "I'm telling you, Rennie," he says, and his voice is sweet-rough, all gravel and molasses, "no one's gonna give a shit about that," and he doesn't even look when he lets the guitar thump behind him onto the bed.


End file.
